


Quiet For So Long

by Kawaiibooker



Series: More Ghosts Than People [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Charles is a top and that's the tea, Cowboys Being Soft, Domestic Fluff, First Time, M/M, Nightmares, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16699282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: "And Arthur knows, before he even opens his mouth, that he shouldn't pry. That he shouldn't drag the vulnerability lurking beyond those words into the light – yet he asks, 'What changed?', and Charles looks at him, eyes warm.'I met you.'"Charles and Arthur explore some things, and figure out some others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely set in Chapter 3; this is a direct sequel to [Only Lost The Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453688/chapters/38530367). Please read that first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [candeloro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candeloro/pseuds/candeloro) and [orionrkt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionrkt).

“... and this guy, he comes charging at me like a bull, I panic, throw the knife. Perfect bullseye, clean between the eyes–“

“Oh, _horseshit_ –“

“No, no, I swear, on Taima, the fucker went down like a sack of bricks, and there I was: money in hand, just... drenched in blood from head to toe, it was a mess.”

Arthur's expression must've been more than a little incredulous because Charles starts laughing the moment he sees it, head thrown back, teeth bared in a broad grin. Arthur huffs, shakes his head.

“I can't believe this. You are the luckiest fuckin' bast– and _that_ was your first run?”

“The very first one, yup.”

Charles's eyes are shining with mirth, the smile clinging to his lips as he leans over his horse's neck and pats her beneath her mane, settling back comfortably in his saddle. A day's ride or two away from camp, they've fallen into their usual system to cover long distances: side-by-side, their mares march in step with each other, the calmer Taima acting as a guide to temperamental Dyani in narrow spaces and tense situations.

They camp by sundown and keep moving by sunrise, spending the time in-between swapping stories, singing familiar songs, whistling along with the birds – when Charles is in the mood, he'll get out that ancient harmonica of his and play a tune, and Arthur will hum along, closely watching Charles's mouth as it teases an incredible range of tones from the instrument, sometimes joyful, sometimes full of sorrow.

It makes him _think._ With Arthur back on his feet and orders from Dutch to follow up on a lead across-state, together, the reasons keeping them apart dwindle down to nothingness; and while their first night away from camp was spent with bold kisses and even bolder hands mapping each other's backs, there's an invisible line neither of them have approached yet.

It's distracting, it's the only thing on his mind at any given moment. All Arthur can do is wrangle those thoughts into manageable pieces, pieces of himself he pours into the silent pages of his journal.

Arthur pushes the sweaty tips of his hair off his face and under his hat, the motion calming in its familiarity. A little worse for wear and patched in some areas, Charles had given it back the day Arthur had been cleared for duty.

_Welcome back, Arthur._

The man is watching him, now, in that undemanding way of his. Arthur tips his hat a little, smiling at the deadpan blink he gets in return that might as well be Charles's version of an eye-roll. Continuing his story, Charles gestures vaguely to Arthur's saddle.

“That bow I gave you? I bought the wood for it the day after. Figured stealth would be a better way to go about things.”

Arthur's look turns surprised, genuinely impressed. “Wait, you made it?”

Charles's eyebrows rise. “Yeah? I thought you knew. All you folks know are pistols and rifles and it shows, no offense. Makes it hard to find one that's balanced right.”

“Huh. Never crossed my mind, that.”

Arthur glances at Charles, then, at his capable hands, and the jagged scars there. A thousand questions burn on his tongue, but he hesitates, wondering what is off-limits and what isn't. Collecting his reins, Arthur brings Dyani's head back from the clouds, murmuring a word of praise under his breath. Her ears flick back and towards him; she chews on her bit.

Finally: “Is that, uh, somethin' your mom taught ya, or…?”

Charles hums, “Mh, you could say so”, and for a while, only the four-beat gait of their horses is to be heard. “She showed me how to hunt, too. Said it's best to trust in nature to stay alive, and to rely on my skills rather than other people.”

“Wise words”, Arthur agrees softly, _maybe it's better that way_. He's too selfish to voice the thought out loud.

“Yes and no”, says Charles, meeting Arthur's gaze briefly, shrugging. “Followed that advice most of my life, and it's not enough. I know that now.”

And Arthur knows, before he even opens his mouth, that he shouldn't pry. That he shouldn't drag the vulnerability lurking beyond those words into the light – yet he asks, “What changed?”, and Charles looks at him, eyes warm.

“I met you.”

*

They arrive at Strawberry with the last light, riding through wafts of mist that flow down the streets and stick to the few scattered buildings the village has, making them stick out like milk teeth in a child's mouth.

At the end of the road, the hotel's warm glow beckons them closer, and Arthur answers Charles's questioning glance with a shrug and a muttered, “Might as well.”

This, too, is a well-known routine: Arthur strides up to the clerk to get a room set up and the bath running, mentions in stride that the tip'll be highest the least he is disturbed and, thirty minutes later on the dot, he slides the window open and waves Charles inside.

By then, he's washed and making short work of his scraggly beard, preferring a neat shave over his typical scruff just because it's been so long since he felt anywhere close to clean in these past few weeks.

In the mirror, he can see Charles undress in the low light, movements quick and efficient, and while they've been naked in each other's presence countless times – after all, there's no room for propriety in an outlaw's life – Arthur's gaze wanders over each inch of bared skin like it's the first. Until the razor nicks his skin and he hisses, face heating up at the knowing chuckle from across the room.

“Careful there”, Charles tells him, and Arthur doesn't reply, resolutely staring at the slow glide of the blade over his already-smooth jaw as water splashes behind him and Charles sinks into the tub with a groan of relief.

Arthur blames the sweat on his brow on the thick steam filling the room with nowhere to go.

A few peaceful minutes pass. Arthur lingers in front of his reflection a little longer than usual, eyeing the messy flop of his wet hair critically but deeming it a lost cause like the rest; throwing the razor on the bunched heap of clothes beside him, he stands up, stretching and sighing as his back cracks audibly.

Charles hasn't moved a single inch, body soaking up to his chest in soapy water, face lax and eyes closed. Dozing, perhaps, although his breaths are too measured for that.

For a lost moment, Arthur looks at Charles and _wants_ , feels it like a physical string pulling at his guts, very much like arousal but also... different. More intimate, more fragile, like it could shatter in his hands if he holds on too tightly.

Quietly, as quiet as possible, he pads over, kneels, mumbles his name, to wake him up or give him an out, Arthur doesn't quite know; Charles blinks his eyes open drowsily, a lazy smile spreading on his lips. He rasps, “Hey”, and “Kiss me?”, so soft it could've gone lost in the gentle trickling of water.

Arthur does, careful at first, nipping at the perspiration gathering on Charles's lips and watching his lids slip shut again. The string tugs, pulls taut in his chest at the blatant trust in the gesture, how Charles hums and his mouth relents to Arthur's.

The water is warm on Charles's skin, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing under the tender slide of Arthur's hands; he squeezes and Charles's brows twitch closer together as he moans, low in his throat.

“Let me”, Arthur whispers; Charles mumbles, “Whatever you want”, and Arthur exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You're makin' offers that are hard to refuse.”

“Then don't.”

Two words, simple, really. Arthur swallows, traces the faded arch of a scar on Charles's bicep. The graze of a bullet, maybe, or a knife's cut. Charles leans back and lets him, previously calm breath hitching as Arthur's touch trails further down, brushing over the smattering of coarse hair on his chest and abdomen and lingering there.

Arthur catches the intense look in Charles's eyes and leans his forehead against his, breathing the same air. “Gotta stay quiet”, he reminds him, waits for Charles to nod – Arthur watches him bite his bottom lip as he takes him in hand and tugs experimentally, tightening his hold around him at the almost-hurt noise coming from Charles–

If Arthur had any concentration left to form doubts they'd be gone, blown away by how Charles's voice sounds as he groans his name; Arthur shushes him, wraps his arm behind his shoulders to place his hand on his mouth, gentle.

The angle doesn't allow for much but Arthur doesn't care, eyes fixed on the way Charles's abs tense and release in the rhythm of his hand on his length, how the murky white of the water flows across his dark skin like silk.

Charles pants against his fingers, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss – an image that etches itself into Arthur's soul as he strokes him to completion and thinks, _I love you._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves fam, we're going full fluff on this one. Might as well enjoy it while we still can ;A;
> 
> The second half of this chapter is a huge shout-out to [GoDownWithThisShip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoDownWithThisShip/pseuds/GoDownWithThisShip)'s fic [By His Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586597) \- thank you for giving us Charthur smut when we most needed it.
> 
> Just to prevent confusion: Similarly to my MGS fics, I decided to split up the series into two, a [main series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1179119) and a [one-shot series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1192249). The one-shots will generally be more all over the place, but still focus on Charles & Arthur!
> 
> [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [candeloro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candeloro/pseuds/candeloro) and [TheSnailQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSnailQueen/pseuds/TheSnailQueen).
> 
> Please mind the small update to the tags. Enjoy!

Charles wakes slowly, consciousness returning to him gradually, then all at once.

He blinks. The room is dark, only dim streaks of light making it past the curtains separating it from the rest of the world. For some time, that's all Charles's mind lingers on.

It must be noon, or late morning at least; Charles feels heavy under the covers, that unique weight that comes with too many hours spent asleep. It's been a while since he could rest beyond dawn, and in a real bed, no less.

There's an arm wrapped loosely around his waist. That, too, is a rarity in and of itself – an experience so far removed from memory, he can't tell if it truly happened or if he dreamed it up – but the muffled snoring coming from the body tucked against his is deeply familiar.

Charles closes his eyes and smiles. _A lucky bastard indeed._

With Arthur in his arms, time is an abstract concept. At first, Charles barely dares to turn far enough to press a kiss to the crown of his head, Arthur's hair soft under his lips. He sleeps on, and Charles is glad he does.

Life on the road is tough, something easily forgotten while you're on it yet just as easily comes to haunt you when you're not. Especially when people are counting on _you_ to keep things going – and it's no damn surprise Arthur is out like a light, given that that's his role in the gang more often than not.

Carefully, Charles shifts underneath him, giving Arthur the softer mass of his pec to rest against. The other mumbles and burrows his stubbled cheek further against him with a sigh that's so content it makes Charles chuckle a little.

“You're like a cat”, he tells him quietly, voice rough with sleep, and doesn't mind when the only answer is another snore.

He dozes off, for a while, dimly aware of the give and take of Arthur's breathing and the subtle nubs of his spine against his palm as he runs his hand up and down his back. Thus he misses the moment those calm breaths turn more strained; idle fingers suddenly clench around his side and Charles awakes with a start, muttering comforting nonsense before he's even fully there.

Indistinct noises grow in volume: whimpers of _no, no_ slip out of Arthur's mouth, small and desperate, and _stop_. Realization slams into Charles out of nowhere.

“Arthur”, he says, repeats it more urgently at the flash of pain that makes Arthur's slack features twist – then Arthur gasps, eyes snapping open in the same instant he starts to push out of Charles's hold.

Charles lets him go, hands raised and tone soothing, “Easy, 's just me”; in a confused haze, Arthur glances around the room – the hotel's opulence and simulated homeliness strikingly out-of-place with how stressed Arthur's gaze is – and finally at Charles, sinking back into his chest with a raw, “Ah, hell”.

After a beat or two Charles puts his arms back where they were, almost touching. “You okay?”

Arthur just nods against his neck, but it takes until his breathing is measured once again for him to speak. “Sorry 'bout that”, he drawls with something akin to shame in his voice, and Charles's heart softens with empathy.

“It's alright, I was already awake.”

A pause.

“This happen often?”

It occurs to him a moment later that he might be pushing too much, too soon, but he hears Arthur clear his throat before he answers, “Every now an' again”, and the fact that he admits to it tells Charles more than enough. Pulling him in, he kisses the tense line between his eyebrows and, eventually, it eases, too.

Arthur hums, tilts his head up to direct him towards his lips instead, sighs into the gentle brush of lips they share.

“Wakin' up ain't usually this nice, though.”

Charles smiles, “Yeah?”, his mouth tracing the twin scar on Arthur's chin that's always had him curious.

“Mhm”, Arthur hums and, with one last peck, rolls to his own side of the bed, yawning against the back of his hand. “How late's it anyways?”

The opportunity to ask is gone but Charles shrugs. _There's always time later._

“Past noon, I reckon. Breakfast?”

Arm draped across his eyes in a somewhat dramatic fashion, Arthur perks up immediately. “Been cravin' somethin' other than Pearson's stew for ages, it seems like.”

“You and me both.”

*

They don't get very far, in the end. Charles is told to wait – time he spends in a half-assed attempt to put on a shirt and get his hair in a loose braid – while Arthur slips in and out of their room in the blink of an eye, carrying two plates of something warm and steaming when he returns. Charles takes one look at the smug glint in his eyes and shakes his head, fondly.

“We're both leaving this place through the window, aren't we?”

“Yup. Watch it, it's still hot.”

Always a fast eater, Charles finishes what looks like potato soup quickly, leaning comfortably against the headrest of the still-unmade bed; the food is fresh, well-made, and he relishes the bits of carrots and other vegetables he can taste. Idly, he muses out loud: “Ever wonder what you would've done in life if not for, y'know...”

“Bein' an outlaw?”

“Yeah, that. Among other things.” Chasing the last spoonful, he sets his empty plate aside, careful not to touch Arthur's journal on the nightstand. “I think I'd've made a good cook.”

Arthur considers him with a tilt to his head, nodding after a while. “I guess? Waste of a damn good shot, though... How 'bout huntin'? For a living, I mean. Certainly'd be more of an entertainin' life than wastin' away in some saloon.”

Charles hums at that. “Maybe, yeah. And you?”

“Me? Haven't really thought 'bout it much. Dunno at which point my life wouldn't've lead to this, one way or 'nother.”

The expression on Arthur's face is pensive as he chews, nothing more. Charles nudges his thigh with his naked foot, gesturing at him with a nod. “Humor me, then.”

“Uh.” Arthur blinks at him, surprised, perhaps, that he's insisting. “Maybe somethin' with horses? Always liked workin' with 'em, breakin' them in. Saw people make a good penny selling 'em, too.”

The mental image of Arthur on his own ranch, training a young horse feels right, somehow.

“Yeah, I can see that. You got a good hand with 'em. Hell, even Taima's sweet on you, and she's picky.”

Arthur's smile is small, humble, the true extent of it to be found in his eyes. He says, “Glad ya think so”, in that sheepish way of his, like he's genuinely astonished someone would think that of him. And really, the things this man _does_ to Charles – with his clever charm, and that glimpse of shyness hidden beneath layers and layers of smooth talking and acting rough-and-tough...

A side of him that, if Charles has guessed right, nobody else gets to see but him.

It's intoxicating, that. Makes him want to drag him back into bed and kiss the living daylights out of him; and when Arthur makes to stack his plate on top of Charles's, he doesn't hesitate to do exactly that, grinning wildly at Arthur's yelped “Charles, what–!“ that turns into laughter half-way through.

“Gotcha”, Charles announces smugly against Arthur's shoulder, and with Charles's arms locked around his waist, Arthur resigns to his fate with an exasperated shake of his head.

“You _are_ aware we gotta leave this bed at some point, right?”

Yet it's him who leans in for a kiss, nipping at Charles's bottom lip and smirking when Charles rumbles a groan into the next one, hungry for more. It seems to be enough of an answer for Arthur; with a hand sliding into Charles's hair, he tilts his head for a better angle and Charles lets him, feeling his braid come loose. A shiver runs up his back at the needy sound Arthur breathes against his mouth.

“Charles–“

There it is again, that uncertainty that is so at odds with the sheer need in Arthur's touches, the longing in his gaze; Charles's hold on him softens, he brushes their noses together, “I want you, Arthur”, he says, voice firm and untouched by doubt. “Let me have you?”

Arthur's chest moves against Charles's with each panting breath he takes. He cups Charles's jaw, searching his expression for something before he licks his lips, nods, confesses, “I... ain't, uh, done anythin' before. With a guy.”

Charles expected as much, but he just hums and kisses him, gently.

“'s okay. I don't mind taking it slow.”

But Arthur huffs, brows drawing into a frown that once might've been intimidating but now isn't, not anymore.

“No, that's not– I'm tryin' to ask for somethin', here.”

And Charles mutters a relieved “Oh, thank God”, pulls him closer with hands that are no longer idle but wandering lower, and his mouth swallows the noise of approval Arthur makes.

*

The truth is: Charles doesn't have much experience with any of this, either.

Maybe on paper, if he'd remember enough names and dates and locations to compile a list. With how society sees these things, however, anonymity equals survival, and none of the sloppy blowjobs and rushed quickies in the shadows of dirty alleyways and dingy saloons could compare to having Arthur fucking Morgan moan his name as Charles takes him for the first time.

All he finds himself capable of doing is gathering the man in his arms, hand splayed across his lower back as he sinks into the warmth of his body and holds there, struggling for breath against his temple. “Just me”, he mutters mindlessly, brushing Arthur's hair out of his flushed face, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his ear. “Relax. 's just me.”

Arthur's clinging for dear life to his back, his nails having dug into the meat of Charles's shoulders slowly releasing, stroking down his sides in silent apology. Charles feels more than hears the breathless “fuck” he pants out, lids clenched shut.

“Okay?”

It takes a second or two for Arthur's eyes to open; Charles smiles when they do, falling all over again for how very blue they are, for the kind soul shining through them as Arthur mumbles for him to keep going in a low rasp.

Charles does, slowly, watches Arthur's face twitch with each thrust, his attempts to stifle the sounds tumbling out of his mouth, so receptive to his every move. Charles's own voice is hoarse – “Don't”, he asks, begs, strained as he tries to make himself last.

“Wanna hear you.”

It's hard to hold back when Arthur drops all pretenses, pulling Charles into a bruising kiss that affords more concentration than neither of them are currently able to give – “Charles”, Arthur moans, and “harder”, head falling back into the pillow.

Charles growls, feels the muscles of Arthur's bared throat work under his lips, his mind drowning in _Arthur Arthur Arthur_ as he runs his hand down his hairy chest and over the rapid beat of Arthur's heart, pounding against his palm.

The heart he has tied his own to, that day on the plains when it almost stopped forever.

Covering Arthur's body with his own, Charles's long hair slides down his shoulders, a shield keeping everything else out as he captures Arthur's mouth and comes, pushing in deep. Arthur whines, shakes apart, fingers reaching for his trembling hips and leaving burning lines across his skin.

“Look at me, Arthur, please–”

Arthur already is, with sweat trickling down his temples and his hair wild, and the look in his eyes is soft and _open_ in a way Charles has never seen before; they kiss, unhurried, intimate, filled with words too precious to say out loud.

A kiss like a promise, gradually taking shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want them to be happy, y'know? ;w;
> 
> [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [candeloro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candeloro/pseuds/candeloro).

They are long gone by the time the clerk knocks on the door to demand his pay.

The day still has a few good hours of light in it; energetic from a day spent at rest, Dyani is more than impatient to pull ahead, prancing and parading within the firm hold Arthur has on her reins, and after sharing a look with Charles, he lets her have her will with Taima following suit.

They ride.

Luck is on their side, weather-wise – just a few clouds in the sky to interrupt the sunshine warming their shoulders yet the drop in temperature is undeniable as the road gets steeper, their horses' breaths more labored. Closing in on their target, closer still to the snow-laden slopes of the Grizzlies; its jagged ridges are painted red and gold by the setting sun, and despite the bad memories it brings, Arthur can't deny how beautiful the vista is, this far up North.

Regardless, he grumbles over the crunching of brittle ice under Dyani's hooves, “Sure as hell didn't miss this”, slightly muffled as he pulls the lapels of his thick, fur-lined coat up to his chin. A few weeks in the humid summer of Lemoyne and those miserable days they spent fighting both the cold and gnawing hunger seem like something out of a storybook.

“That ahead is Lobos territory”, Charles remarks behind him, not sounding too thrilled about it either. “We need our wits about us when we cross.”

“Mh. Camp?”

“Yeah.”

The prospect of a warming fire is as welcome as a respite from sitting in the saddle with his body _this_ sore. It's got him stiff around the shoulders and wanting to wince every time he bends to set up the tent. Before long, Charles's hip nudges against Arthur's, his hands smoothly taking whatever Arthur was about to reach for next.

 _I got this_ , his eyes say but his mouth mercifully stays shut; Arthur squashes down the near-immediate flare of his pride – the indignant need to protest any help, _his_ help – and nods.

He tends to the horses, then, muttering words of comfort as he throws one of the spare blankets over their backs and ties it around their necks. It's not a perfect solution, pitiful in fact but better than nothing to replace some of the thick fur they lost in gentler climates. “Just a few hours, ladies”, Arthur tells them, rubbing Taima's soft nose affectionately. “We'll be back an' at it in no time at all.”

With the fall of night swiftly approaching, the wind picks up considerably, slips through the seams and holes in Arthur's jacket and makes him shiver in the few steps it takes to join Charles by the fire.

“Ain't fair'a Dutch to send us back up here so soon”, he complains as he ducks into the tent, his hat taken off and thrown beside the two pushed-together bedrolls in its midst. Arthur shuffles into the space offered by Charles's open arms, too greedy for his warmth to comment on the teasing glint in his gaze.

“Not like them O'Driscolls're gonna wanna stick around here either, given their losses. They're dumb as the day is long but not _that_ dumb.”

Charles's chuckle is but a huffed breath against his ear. He rests his chin on Arthur's shoulder, hands rubbing up and down his arms to spark some feeling back into his limbs. Around them, the tent trembles with every gust but it holds, keeping the worst of it at bay.

“Don't think we'll find anything either. Can't say I mind, though. Feels good to be back out here and just ride for a few days.”

Arthur hums, leans his temple against Charles's, smiling as the other's lips brush his jaw in a barely-there kiss. “Didn't have to join me in goin' stir-crazy in camp, Charles. I'd never ask that of ya.”

Charles's arms snake around his chest, holding Arthur steady against him in a way that feels oddly familiar. “You didn't have to”, he mumbles; and Arthur takes his hand, places it over the spot where his heart is melting through layers of clothing and skin and bone, just for him.

They stay like that, for a little while, watching the fire flicker to and fro in the storm, safe in each other's embrace. Arthur doesn't feel cold anymore, wrapped up in the walking furnace that is Charles, but after the second time he catches himself dozing off, he manages to convey they should settle in for the night between jaw-cracking yawns.

Only when he moves does he remember why he shouldn't – Arthur hisses a low _ouch_ as the ache in his lower back reminds him pointedly it still exists.

Charles steadies him, looking a little blindsided himself as he asks, “Your shoulder?”, voice soft with concern.

“Nah, don't worry”, Arthur tells him, teeth clenching as he crawls into his bed roll and flops down on his side, sighing a moment later when Charles doesn't do the same.

“Charles, please, jus'... Trust me, 'kay? It's fine.”

Getting themselves comfortable is a silent affair, after that. Charles looks almost unsure of himself as he lifts their remaining blanket and waits for Arthur to decide what to do, and Arthur huffs and makes it clear he intends to sleep as close to Charles as he can get, chest-to-chest and with his hands digging under the back of his jacket until he meets skin.

“'m a bit sore, is all”, Arthur says into the sudden quiet, nuzzling his face into Charles's collar. “Don't want ya to feel guilty, or anythin' like that.”

Charles breathes a low “oh”, swallows, starts running his palm up and down Arthur's back the way he did just that morning. It's a force of nature, this ability he has to calm and soothe until his lids are heavy with sleep – this time, however, Arthur fights to stay awake, squeezing the softness around Charles's waist with loving hands.

“Don't go all shy on me now, Charles, I ain't complainin'. Only reason I'm not jumpin' your bones right about now is 'cause my dick'd freeze off before we'd get anywhere interestin'.”

Charles's laugh sounds all the more comforting up close, where Arthur's ear is pressed against his shoulder and he can hear it rumble from deep within. “Good to know we're on the same page, then.”

Then Charles sighs, his hand coming to rest over his hip, idle.

“I've never had... this. Something more– I don't know. Permanent? It makes me nervous, believe it or not.”

Arthur can't help it, that fluttery jump that his heart makes; he chews on his lip to stop himself from smiling, contents himself with thumbing the raised lines on Charles's back that he knows for a fact came from his own hands. He admits, “It's just us, y'know”, safe within the intimate space between Charles's neck and his jaw. “Just you an' me. Nothin' changing about that.”

Charles's hand is on the nape of Arthur's neck, now, covering it with fingers rough and calloused from work, and a lifetime of hardship. He says, “I'm glad I found you, Arthur Morgan”, voice quiet and full of emotion, _something more_ , and Arthur would be hard pressed to remember a time when his name was said like that – like he is worth more than his good aim, and the violence his hands can cause.

Arthur wishes he could commit it all to paper, this moment in all its precious details: how every breath he takes carries Charles's scent; the distinct sound of his heart, beating in time with his; but he's always been better with a pen than with words, and Charles is drifting off, arms going slack around Arthur.

 _Tomorrow_ , he swears, finds the dip of Charles's scar on his cheek by memory and kisses it, carefully. _I'll tell him tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of an epilogue than a full chapter, but there's more coming. See you in the next one! c:
> 
> [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)


End file.
